The King Stands Alone
by Around Here Somewhere
Summary: After his suicide attempt, the secret service cuts him a deal so that it doesn't get out. Fitz has to go to therapy, with a doc named Elliot who could care less who Fitz is. Meanwhile, Fitz is also trying to piece his life back together, and figure out what exactly his life actually is. M for lots of reasons.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I **surprise** don't own scandal. If i did - oh, we won't even get started there...

A/N: An AU spinoff after the Fourth Season opener, kinda. It's – I don't know how to explain it other than this: It's after Gerry dies, and it's before the season that we're in really takes off. So, essentially an alternate universe after Gerry dies, and season 3. However, it's got a lot of other stuff in it too. It's a closer look into Fitz, and what makes him what he is, and who he is. Essentially, a character study in the form of a fanfic. And, obviously, there will be plenty of Olitzy stuff because – Hello, I'm me. However, the whole story will be written from Fitz's point of view. Enjoy my Lovelies :)

The King Stands Alone

Chapter One:

"Mr. President, do you know why you're here?"

Fitz looked up from his highly overpriced Italian Leather shoes to a man with messy slightly ginger hair and glasses. He had thick framed black glasses, and a mustache. He was almost a caricature of what he would expect an older version of a professor to look like. His cardigan, and olive shirt were nothing really to look at or envy, and his shoes were scuffed up, overused. He was a skinny little man, clearly not from inside of the beltway, and there was absolutely nothing about him that told him that he was going to help. These were all of the things that made Fitz wonder where the secret service, where Cyrus had found him. Dr. Elliot Winters, he didn't look like an Elliot, he looked like a David, or a Daniel, or maybe even a Douglass. There was no honor, or valor to him. He looked like a mouse. A man who hid from the world behind his text books and his thoughts – a man who might not have much to show for it – but a man who was much smarter than him.

"Sir?" Elliot spoke up, "Sir, for these sessions to help you, you're going to have to eventually speak up."

Fitz said nothing, just continued to sit there, considering the man that was sitting across from him. He had been doing the same thing for at least three sessions, just sitting there with Dr. Winters, who had asked him to call him Elliot. A man who always dressed casually, whether they were meeting at the White House, or they were meeting in his own offices, like they were today, away from the walls of his prison. He took a deep breath as looked at the small stain on Elliot's collar. Coffee, or something else that looked like it. Maybe tea. Maybe a stain he had earned while he was driving his kids to daycare. The ring on his finger told Fitz that he was married, probably to the love of his life. A woman he came home to, and she had things in her hair, and children clinging to her. It wasn't a house in Vermont, it was an apartment on Sixth street, too small for their family, but they made it work. And Fitz was jealous of him. Jealous of his mediocre life, his mediocre world where he couldn't even imagine what Fitz had been through.

"Why don't you tell me something about yourself?" Fitz asked, setting his hand on his fist, leaning against the arm of the couch he was on.

"You want to know about me, Mr. President?" Elliot asked, and when Fitz nodded, Elliot sighed before he started to speak, "Well, I'm forty-two. I did my undergrad at a small liberal arts school in Boston, and I graduated with my Doctorate from Harvard Med. I have a wife and three small children, the youngest about your son Teddy's age. My wife's name is Helen, and she's a kindergarten teacher. My kids are Henry, Michael, and Olivia. We call her Olive. And, I think our sessions would be a lot more helpful if I was allowed to call you anything else besides 'Sir' or 'Mr. President'."

"Fitz," He said, more in shock – for obvious reasons – than he was willing to admit, "What's your little girl's name?"

"Olive," Elliot replied, taking a deep breath, "Olivia – but we call her Olive."

"Right," Fitz nodded, perfect.

"Is there something wrong with the name?"

"No," Fitz said, shaking his head, "Nothing's wrong with it. It's a beautiful name."

"You know an Olivia, don't you?" He said, and Fitz stiffened up.

"Used to."

"Used to?" Elliot prompted, this was the most he had gotten out of Fitz in three sessions, he was just trying to keep him talking, and Fitz knew it.

"Yeah, she left a little while ago," Fitz said.

"Were you close?" He asked, and Fitz shrugged – there was no use trudging that up right now.

"I'm here because the secret service is making me," Fitz tried to bury the trail that Elliot was trying to go down.

"Sorry?" Elliot asked, leaning back in his chair.

"I'm here because there was a – situation," Fitz said calmly as he stretched his leg out just a little bit, "And the Secret Service promised to keep quiet about it as long as I agreed to therapy, so here I am."

"Right," Elliot said, taking a deep breath, "You were sentenced to sessions with me, as I saw fit, until I found that you were healed, whole, and no longer in danger."

"Right," Fitz said, setting both of his feet firmly on the ground, playing with the peeling cuticle on his index finger, "So here I am."

"Fitz," Elliot tested out his new privilege, "I'll let you in on a little secret, if you don't start talking, I'm going to have to bump you up to coming to see me three times a week instead of two. And it's always going to be here."

"You don't want to do that," Fitz said, straightening his lapel, "I have a country to run."

"And exactly how are you going to do that if you're stringing yourself up to the window in the – Oval Office, was it?" Elliot said, and Fitz furrowed his brow, "Sorry if you're offended, but I find it most helpful to just be frank about what's happened. Now, it's been a month since it happened – would you like to tell me what happened that night?"

"You have the report right there in your file," Fitz said, shifting slightly in his seat, "I'm sure you've looked it over. Once or twice."

"I have," Elliot nodded, "But I want to hear it from you. All this report says is that one of your secret service agents walked into the Oval Office, and cut you down from in front of a window that was out of view of the cameras. He preformed CPR, and you were revived. You were then taken to the hospital, and you were released the next morning after a quick counseling session."

"Forgive me if it's a little bit of a blur," Fitz shot back, and Elliot nodded.

"Well, why don't you tell me what you do remember."

"What I remember?" Fitz said, and Elliot nodded.

"For now, just the facts," He added on, "You don't have to get into the fine details – yet. I'll let you know if I have any questions. Just what you remember. It helps to talk about it, helps you own it."

Own it?

"Fine," Fitz said, not talking, sitting in silence, hadn't really gotten him far, "I was in the Oval Office, it was passed when I usually was there. I was sitting at my desk, and I wasn't in my right mind. I made a call, and then I walked over to the window, and I grabbed the rope from the curtain."

"What were you thinking about?" Elliot asked, and Fitz just sort of looked at him, "What do you think made you do it?"

"My son had just passed. We had had the funeral that morning."

"Who did you call?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember? It was the last call you were going to make, and you don't remember who it was?" Elliot asked, "You don't remember who the last person you want to talk to before you die is?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Ok, were they there? Did they pick up?"

"No."

"Did you leave a message?"

"No."

"Ok," Elliot said, and he made a little note on Fitz's file, "Why doesn't it matter?"

"Why doesn't what matter?"

"Why doesn't it matter who it was?"

"Because they're no longer a part of my life," Fitz said, taking a deep breath.

"Is that because they didn't pick up? Because they couldn't tell the future that picking up that phone might have stopped you? Do you think they didn't pick up the phone, magically knew the situation, and didn't pick up on purpose? Because whoever it is doesn't care about you?"

"No," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "It was desperate. If she had known, she would have picked up. And, that is completely separate from whether she – "

"She?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Fitz backtracked almost immediately, and Elliot's ears perked up.

"Well, see my problem is, Fitz," He took a deep breath, "I've seen a lot of patients, and a lot of parents that have lost children. None of them are as high up as you, but I assume that's why I was chosen to do this. I don't usually take politicians, or anyone near what you do. I usually work with families, and kids, and parents who need help. But, besides that – Millions of people lose sons, daughters, babies, and teenagers every day. I've talked to maybe a few hundred of them as patients, but not one of them has attempted suicide, or attempted to hurt themselves in any way without already having an underlying problem."

"Are you saying that my son dying in my arms isn't enough to warrant me wanting to hang myself?"

"Frankly? No," Elliot said, rather cavalierly as he pressed his glasses up his nose, "Do you have a history of depression?"

"No."

"Ever been abused? Physically, Sexually, or Emotionally?"

"No."

"Now, come on," Elliot said, "Everyone's been emotionally abused at one point in their life."

"I said no," Fitz repeated himself, and Elliot nodded.

"Right, the big fancy President of the United States couldn't possibly be vulnerable," He said, and Fitz leaned back, "Ok – who found you?"

"What?"

"Who found you, the night you tried to kill yourself?"

"Isn't that in the file?"

"No."

"Tom," Fitz said quietly.

"Tom, the agent that's standing outside the door right now?" Elliot asked, and Fitz nodded, as his cuticle began to bleed, and he stopped picking at it.

"The very same."

"What's his job?"

"He's a secret service agent."

"But he's more than that. I can't imagine that just any agent is assigned to you."

"He's assigned to my detail," Fitz shrugged, "He's been assigned to my detail since the first election. He's close."

"And was he there the night your son died?"

"Yes, but I don't see what that has to do with anything," Fitz said, and Elliot just made a note.

"Probably nothing," Elliot replied, looking over his folder at him, "And Tom, he probably knows you better than you know yourself, right?"

"No," Fitz said, "Well, he probably knows me more than I've realized – but no. There's only one person who knows me that well."

"And who is this person?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Your wife?"

"No," Fitz almost laughed, "No, she's not – no."

"And how is the first lady?" Elliot asked, and Fitz shrugged.

"She's fine."

"She just lost a child too, and she's fine?"

"She's ok," Fitz said, and Elliot nodded.

"How about Karen?"

"Karen requested to be sent back to school as soon as possible," Fitz said, and Elliot smiled slightly.

"And you let her?"

"Figured she was safer there."

"Safer?"

"I figured she would feel safer, back where she's been the last couple of years."

"Right," Elliot nodded, "Did you want her to go?"

"I didn't want to send them in the first place."

"And is that a point of contention, between you and the First Lady?"

"No," Fitz lied, "Boarding School is the natural choice. We both grew up in them."

"So, Fitz – why did you do it?" Elliot asked him, and he was a little confused.

"What? Send Karen back? Because she asked us – "

"No, why did you try to kill yourself?" Elliot asked him, and Fitz narrowed his gaze.

"I don't know."

"I think you do," Elliot said, not harshly, just as if he were stating the facts, "I think you know exactly why. Or at least have a list of reasons somewhere in your head. And the reason that you're here? It's because that list is still somewhere in that head of yours, but you've locked it away. And you're here, because eventually it's going to resurface again, and we need to work through it before you decide that you want to do something like that again."

Fitz said nothing.

"What do you have that's good in your life?"

"Teddy," Fitz said.

"Teddy's a toddler," Elliot reminded him, "He's four feet tall, and cries. He's all that you have that's good? What about Karen?"

"Karen's a teenage girl who lives at boarding school," Fitz said, and Elliot nodded.

"Fair enough," He said, taking a deep breath, "What is it about Teddy that makes him good?"

"He's just a baby," Fitz said, "No one's screwed him up yet. He's happy, with simple things? He's just good."

"He's happy with simple things?" Elliot asked him, and Fitz nodded, as Elliot jotted something down on the file, "What about friends? Do you have anyone of adult age that you feel you can trust?"

"I'd like you to name a politician who does," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "You move up the ladder, and you make enemies. Whether you're meaning to or not, you make enemies. People who are envious of the votes you have, or the support you have. The funds that you have that could have been theirs instead."

"What about your wife? Your advisors?"

"My wife went on television and told the world I had an affair," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "What kind of relationship do you think we have?"

"What about your advisors? This Cyrus Beene, the one who found me for you. He seems to care about you. What about him?"

"What about him?"

"What's his job?"

"He's my chief of staff," Fitz said quietly.

"So, he's supposed to be your closest advisor, then."

"I guess," Fitz said, taking a breath, "Honestly, he was trying to save his own ass, finding you for me. He's – I've known the guy for twenty years and I can't say I can think of more than three people the man actually cares about off the top of my head. One of those people is dead, and the other is also a toddler."

"Who's the third?"

"Someone who isn't here anymore."

"Someone important?"

"Sure," Fitz said, checking his watch – he had to be out here, soon. Right?

"Is this the same person you were trying to call that night?" Elliot asked cautiously.

"How'd you figure that one out?" Fitz shot back, and Elliot shrugged.

"You're avoiding it just as much as you were trying to avoid telling me about her," Elliot said simply, "Did he love her as much as you?"

"I don't know," Fitz said honestly, "She had a way of making anyone love her."

"And you did, love her?"

"Maybe," Fitz said, sighing, "Maybe I was just lonely."

"Now feel free to ignore this question, but is it is a sign of a more serious problem," Elliot said, "And I remind you that everything said in sessions is confidential. How many sexual partners have you had, in the past year to a year and a half?"

"Two," Fitz replied, deciding not to elaborate any further.

"Ok," Elliot said, "We're making progress."

Fitz scoffed.

"Now tell me about your son," Elliot prompted, and Fitz sighed.

"He was a great kid," Fitz shrugged, "He was athletic, an adorable toddler. He used to put on my shoes and walk around the house when I was Governor. He used to cry til I brought him to work with me when I was senator. He was spirited, when he was older."

"Who was he closer to, yourself or Mrs. Grant?"

"Me," Fitz said, and Elliot nodded again.

"And you carried him away, when he collapsed on stage?"

"Yes," Fitz said, "I carried him out to the limousine that brought us there – and Tom had us to the hospital in a matter of minutes. There was nothing that we could have done – "

"You seem at peace with it."

"My son died right in front of me."

"I'm saying, you're talking about it like a man who would kill himself over the loss of a child."

"Well, I've learned that death isn't always the worst thing that can happen to a person," Fitz said, struggling to keep his tone even.

"That's very true," Elliot agreed with him, "There are a lot of things worse than that. Care to name a few?"

"Torture," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "Being forced to live your life a certain way."

"Those are very patriotic answers," Elliot said, and Fitz nodded.

"I am the President," He commented, almost sarcastically.

"Do you like your job?"

"No," Fitz said, without batting an eyelash.

"Can't imagine it would be too much fun," Elliot replied, "But I haven't ever heard of one of them even contemplating suicide."

"And you still won't," Fitz pointed out, "I'm sure it's happened before, though."

"Good point," Elliot said quietly, and he sighed, "You asked me to tell you about me, at the beginning of the session, why? You're arguably the best politician in the world, and you've spent a collective two hours just staring, and analyzing me. There's probably nothing I said that you didn't already know."

"I didn't know the names of your kids, or your wife," Fitz said, and Elliot took a deep breath.

"I have to ask again, were you ever abused?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure."

"Fitz."

"Not that I'm aware of," He replied, and Elliot nodded.

"And before I let you go – Why did you try to kill yourself?"

Fitz took a deep breath, and looked around the cluttered office. There were books, magazines, and a shag carpet. A home-y feel, or that's what he was going for. He looked up at Elliot's degrees framed up on the wall behind him. All his kids' pictures were lined up on the wall. His family lined up, in separate frames. Him and his wife, Helen, were first, then Henry. It was strange how kids ascribed to their names, like they took their label and ran with it. The smiling freckle faced boy couldn't really go by any other name without it sounding weird. Next to him was Michael, clearly the rebellious little brother, even though he was still young. Then, Olivia.

"Because the king stands alone," Fitz muttered, and Elliot seemed confused.

"Sorry, what?"

"You asked me why I tried to kill myself," Fitz checked, and Elliot nodded, "And I said: Because the King stands alone."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey there, Lovelies : ) Thanks for the reviews for this one, I actually really like this one, but it takes a little more than some of the other ones I'm writing/have written – so, it will be updated when I can.

A/N: Hey there, lovelies. Thanks for the reviews, they sure do make my day. Anyways, enjoy : )

The King Stands Alone

Chapter Two:

Fitz, for a second time that week, was staring at his shoe again. He wondered slightly how many tax payer's dollars Cyrus was using for him to stare at his shoe on Elliot's couch. Elliot had arranged for all of the sessions they were going to have to be at his office. He said something about being away from the White House for therapy being more helpful than them sitting in a coat room somewhere and Fitz locking up. Fitz was pretty sure that he locked up whenever he saw Elliot, but he wasn't about to argue. It was claustrophobic in that place. It always had been, and probably always would. The only thing that used to make it bearable was gone now. So now he had to just grit his teeth and wait four more years. Then he was done, then he had to be done. But four years was a long time.

"How was your day today?" Elliot asked him casually, and Fitz shrugged.

"Normal, I guess," He said, playing with the cuff on his sleeve.

"Normal?"

"Everyone has their routines," Fitz replied, and Elliot nodded.

"I guess that's true," Elliot agreed, "Last time you were saying that you were feeling lonely, which is understandable. You have a lonely job, but is there a time you can remember not feeling lonely?"

"Honestly?" Fitz asked, letting himself actually entertain Elliot's question, "I don't know. I don't know when I was actually feeling lonely, or when I forced myself to think that I was happy with other people around."

"Let's keep it simple," Elliot said, giving him a somewhat questioning look, "When was the last time you didn't feel lonely? Disregarding whether you have doubts about it looking back. Surface value."

"Sure," Fitz said, and Elliot narrowed his gaze at him.

"You know, a great man once said, 'I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It's not. The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone.'"

"You seriously just quoted Robin Williams at me?"

Fitz's response was flip, but he knew what Elliot was getting at. It was pretty clear. He had been surrounded by people who made him feel all alone his whole life. His parents, who were always too caught up in what they wanted to do, their own pleasure, then taking time to spend it with him. His father, and all his secretaries. His mother, not much better with all of her sewing circles of friends and tea parties. They sent him off with his nannies, and then his boarding schools without so much of a look most of the time. Then there was Mellie, who he knew wasn't right. Who he knew still wasn't quite the accepting and loving situation that he wanted to be in. But here his father was, handing him a wife – someone who by definition was supposed to take care of him, keep him company, and be that rock in his life.

And then there was Olivia. His Liv, who had tricked him way worse then all the rest. A woman who really had seemed to love him, and dangled what he wanted right out in front of him like a carrot on a stick. That was when he had thought that he'd figured it out, that it was a two way street. That he had to love them too, and he had. Or at least he had loved what he thought was going on. He had been mulling over his relationship with her for the past few weeks – among other things. Maybe he was lonely, sure. Maybe he was just scratching an itch with a pretty girl – he really didn't think that one was it, but it was a possibility. Or maybe it was just something that didn't work out, because she didn't actually want him, or the fates just decided that he was only supposed to have her for a short time. Though, even as much of a romantic as he was, the second option seemed unlikely. But he did know one thing, that Olivia was there when he needed her – and then she wasn't when he needed it more.

"Well, you don't agree?" Elliot asked him, and Fitz took a deep breath, "I can tell you right now it's true for me. I could spend years on an island by myself and it would be better than hanging around an hour with someone who didn't really care about me. Someone who only pretended, and pretended poorly, that they were there for me."

"I agree," Fitz said, and Elliot made a note.

"So, can you tell me the first time you really felt alone?"

"Since I was a kid," Fitz answered, not sure why, "I don't know exactly when it hit me, that most kids weren't raised by nannies who were older than their grandparents."

"You were raised by nannies?"

"Secretly, they did a good job of covering it up, but yes," Fitz said, and Elliot gave another one of his nods.

"I know this is a little stereotypical, but how was your relationship with your parents?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, they're both dead now, right?"

"They are."

"Do you think they loved you?"

Fitz's immediate reaction was different from his response.

"I don't know," He admitted, "Mom might've – could have. Probably did."

"And your dad?"

"My father liked what I could do for him," Fitz said without a note of uncertainty, "He loved the idea that I would be able to do what he couldn't. Carry the name on."

"Was it him that wanted you to be president?" Elliot asked, "I mean, you wouldn't be alone. Most of our most famous, and most beloved presidents had terrible fathers. Lincoln, Kennedy…"

"Yeah, he wanted me to be President, because he couldn't," Fitz said, and Elliot made a note, "Well, technically he thought I'd never make it."

"And you did," Elliot pointed out, as if it were something to be proud of, "What about other people in your life? Your wife? Cyrus?"

"Cyrus once explained our relationship to me in that he was the sausage maker, and I was the sausage," Fitz said.

"Well, that kind of speaks for itself," Elliot said, leaning back and fixing his cardigan, "And what about Mellie?"

"What about her?" Fitz asked, taking a deep breath.

"Well, have you ever heard of the notion that people look for what they're used to, not necessarily what they need?" Elliot asked, and Fitz nodded, "Well, it's actually entirely true. It wouldn't surprise me with your profile if she maybe – "

"All Mellie ever wanted to be was First Lady," Fitz said bitterly, "And she saw what my father and Cyrus were already doing to get me there. She may have changed her mind after the fact, or blurred bits to romanticize what she did – but it still stays the same. All she wanted from me was to be First Lady, and to stay First Lady. Don't judge her too harshly though, because I let her do it. I knew what was going on. I'm not an idiot."

"I'm not judging her, or you," Elliot replied, "But up until this point, you were ok with all of this going on around you. I'm going to tell you that this type of profile, fits much better with the suicide attempt than a grieving father. But there has to be some catalyst there, something that made you realize that you didn't want what was going on."

Yeah, he didn't need a shrink to figure that out.

"Now, it's entirely possible that the death of your son made you realize this," Elliot said, "But usually with this kind of thing – what I'm saying is – almost fifty-two is a weird time for a first suicide attempt to occur. What do you have that's happening this week?"

"I have a conference," Fitz said, and Elliot nodded, "On Friday to try and figure out what to do with Syria."

"Well, good luck to you," Elliot said, "Because time's up."

There was a cold draft from the window he had opened earlier as he stood in the middle of the presidential seal. Fitz looked down at the bottle of scotch in his hand, and then over at Tom, who was standing right on the inside of the door. Fitz wasn't sure he had been alone for more than five minutes since the incident. Absolutely no time by himself in the Oval Office since the incident, he took a breath. The kind of breath that reminded him he was somewhat alive, even after everything. He glanced over at Tom, who didn't flinch as he poured himself a glass on the coffee table, then he stood back where he was before. This time he was looking down at his glass. He really hated everything to do with this office. As he looked around it just reminded him of all the things that he would rather forget. All the things that he would rather pretend never happened.

"Sir?" Tom asked him, and Fitz shuttered.

"I'm ok, Tom," He said, still staring up at the ceiling, "You can stop hovering. I won't be trying - that - again."

"I'll trust you when you're shrink clears you," Tom said, checking his watch, "Until then, I'll be here."

'Sometimes, I really hate you, Tom," He said, looking back down at his shoes.

"That's fine, Sir," He replied, and Fitz took another deep breath.

Fitz took a breath. He thought about going up to the residence, but Mellie was home – efor once. Since Gerry died, he assumed that Mellie had gone with the idea that the less she was in the White House. Which he couldn't exactly blame her for, especially after what he had done after the funeral. He fell onto the couch as he threw his glass of scotch down his throat about as quickly as he could toss it. Then, he was staring at the ceiling, again. He had been doing that a lot these days, and he was coming to the realization that ceilings were comforting. They confined you, they made sure that you were covered, and you were never scared of them caving in on you.

He also realized that they weren't something that he had given much thought to before. Everything else – the resolute desk, the pictures on the walls, and even the carpet. They all reminded him of Liv, of his own damn ambition, and all of the things that he wished he could go back and change. First and foremost, that he would have never stepped foot inside of the White House as The President of The United States. If he had known everything that was going to happen, he would have stopped. He would have quit the race when he met Olivia, and that was when he knew he wasn't fit for the job. It was his ego that kept him going, his ego that said that he had some sort of right to the Presidency. Or, maybe, he wouldn't have married Mellie at all, and he would have just hung around D.C. and waited for Olivia to show up. But would she have loved him? Had she loved him anyway? Had she really, or was she just pretending? Had he been pretending? He didn't even know anymore. Maybe He thought he loved her.

Ceilings were nice.

"Are you just going to stare at the ceiling again, Sir?" Tom asked for a minute, and Fitz just looked over at him, "I'm just asking, because I've been watching you stare up at the ceiling for almost two weeks now, and it's getting really boring. It's getting really boring for me, and if it's boring for me – that's fine. If you're whirling through things and whatever."

"What's your point, Tom?"

"I was wondering if you maybe wanted to do something, get, reasonably away from the Oval Office," Tom said, and Fitz sat up, "Just before you have more than one of those, Sir."

"What do you mean?" Fitz asked, and Tom sighed.

"Do you need to maybe, blow off some steam?" Tom asked him, "Get a different surroundings for like an hour?"

"What're you offering me?" Fitz asked, and Tom sighed.

"Put the glass down, and come with me – Sir," Tom said, and Fitz got up from the couch.

Fitz did as he was asked, and followed Tom of out of the Oval. Tom then, rather nonchalantly walked down the hall, trying to appear not to be walking ahead of Fitz. He assumed I was for the benefit of all the security cameras that they were passing, and played along. Eventually, Tom came to a door that Fitz had been pretty sure was a conference room that was never really used, at least that was what every other door on that particular hallway was. And so, when they entered an empty conference room, Fitz was not really surprised until Tom went into the corner and opened up a door that he hadn't known was there, and held it open rather expectantly.

"After you, Mr. President," Tom said, pending an arm to gesture down was looked to Fitz like a get of cement steps going down, "We could also use the elevator if you prefer."

"We'll use the elevator coming back up," Fitz said with a little nod, and Tom didn't say much but a little grunt of agreement.

It didn't even occur to Fitz to ask exactly where Tom was taking him until they had reached the bottom of the stairs. At that point, he assumed it didn't really matter so much where they were going so long as he hadn't spent a lot of one there. As long as he wasn't staring at the ceiling again, he wasn't about to complain, or ask too many questions. Tom swiped his badge across the electric lock, there was a click, and then the door swung open. On the otherwise was a narrow basement hallway, almost like the walls of the bunker they shuffled him off to when they got scared. At this point it seemed it no longer mattered what the security cameras saw, as Tom weaved him through narrow passages, occasionally whipping his badge out once more to get them through a door. The wasn't a lot down there, and Fitz was just about to ask what they were doing when Tom opened up another doorway not too far from where they're already were.

"Sir," Tom paused, hand still on the door handle, "It's probably best if you just never mention any of this."

"Ok," Fitz said as Tom swiped his badge again, and suddenly Fitz understood.

Tell me just opened up with the type to sumo with Secret Service's private shooting range. Cinderblock room with a small amount of noise canceling orange headphones to help block the noise of the guns. He assumed – or he hoped – that the headphones were used in cases where it was a slow afternoon, and the gallery was filled with agents. Imagine that this place would be a popular hang out when agents are waiting to be called to events, or before their shifts. Now though, about two in the morning, there is no one down there at all. Tom reached over and handed him a pair of headphones, which Fitz let hang around his neck. He watched as Tom walked over to the locker on the wall, to go to spare gun and a target, and went to work putting it up.

"Now, if I give you this you have to promise not to blow your own head off," Tom said as he came back to where Fitz was standing behind the counter in the dividers.

"Promise," Fitz told him rather weakly, and Tom grunted in approval as he handed him the hand gun carefully.

"And you're going to want those headphones," Tom added almost as if were an after thought, "It echoes like hell in here."

"Why?"

"Because the whole room's concrete. Haven't you ever been in a parking garage?"

"No, why'd you bring me down here?"

"Because you're an awful shot, and you're not always going to be surrounded by your own private army of security guards," Tom said somewhat somberly, "And I couldn't let you stew up in that godforsaken room anymore. You stare at the walls like bull ready for a fight."

"I - my life changed, Tom," Fitz said, "In a matter of seventy-two hours everything I knew or I thought I knew was changed. My son was gone, the woman I loved was gone, and I was elected to be president - again. Four more years in this hell-hole, no offense."

"None taken," Tom said and Fitz just kind of shrugged as he put his headphones on, and pulled up his gun.

The target that Tom had put up was shaped like a person, with smaller targets around where kill shots would be. For example the head, the heart, the lung, the arteries in the thigh and a couple other places that Fitz wouldn't have guessed. He pointed the gun up at the target, and Tom's hand came down on top of the gun, signaling him to pause. Fitz then nearly laughed as Tom handed him a pair of goggles. He was going to protest, but knew that Tom was going to have a hell of a time trying to explain how the President shot his eye out while he was supposed to be 'watching him'. He felt a little like an unruly teenager.

"How's your sessions going?" Tom asked curiously, once Fitz had emptied almost all the ammunition in his gun into the wall behind his target, and he had removed his headphones.

"I don't really see them going anywhere," Fitz said, as Tom looked over at his target.

"What the hell kind of Navy were you in?" Tom asked, looking at the target, which had one, maybe two stray bullets in it.

"I was a pilot," Fitz excused himself.

"Right, pansy," Tom said, in what sounded like mostly a tease, "Hold the gun again, point it at the target – There's your problem. Mr. President, you have to aim the gun like you actually want to hurt it. The target that is, and don't worry – it's paper. It's already dead. So harness all that misery and anger, and shoot the target. I know you can aim better than that. Pull your elbow up more."

"Why are you doing this?" Fitz asked him, "Teaching me how to shoot?"

"It's my job to protect you," Tom said simply, "And I'm trying to do it the best I can. Like I said, you might not always have a security guard with you when you need them. That, and I figure if you keep stewing up there in that damn office, you're gonna end up blowing your brains out with the gun you keep in your desk.

"You know about that?"

"It's my job to," Tom replied, "Why didn't you use it that night?"

"Didn't come to mind," Fitz shrugged with the lie, to hope it sounded more authentic.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hey there, Lovelies. I have another chapter for you, and I hope you all enjoy it :) I'm going to ask you all ' keep your minds open about this, though – I'm only so far in. I can't imagine it's going to be one of mine that ends up over 100k words, but that's kind of the point of this one. Anyways, enjoy :)

The King Stands Alone

Chapter Three:

Fitz was drumming his fingers on the edge of the couch, looking around Elliot's office. There wasn't a lot of times where he was left alone in there, and definitely not when he was waiting for Elliot. When Elliot was off photocopying something, or informing his agents about something – this had not happened. Of course, he had never asked specifically for a meeting with Elliot. However, he probably would have if he knew how easily it would manipulate his schedule. Cyrus and Tom were almost scared to say 'no' to him ever going to see Elliot. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not – that he had them so jumpy – but at least it was working. He had a tighter command on them than he ever had before – but this was not the way that he had wanted it. Nothing was the way he wanted.

"Fitz," Elliot walked in, taking his leather messenger bag off of himself, and taking his usual seat in front of him, across from the coffee table, "Sorry it took me so long – I had to pick my son up at soccer and drop him with his mom."

Elliot's cardigan was a light army green today, and Fitz really wished that he would leave out such details of his life. The jealousy of Elliot, a man who had been allowed to follow his passions, and follow the natural order of human nature – was almost too much for Fitz to stomach. He had been programmed so long and so intently on being president he couldn't remember a time when he didn't want to be a politician. It was sick. What kind of kid, what kind of childhood came from wanting to be a politician? Wasn't he supposed to want to be a veterinarian, or a doctor, or a fireman? A policeman? Something simple, something that you could do, and still keep your soul. A job that he went to for a few hours before he came back to a family, not a whole life that he was going to be forced into.

"Not a problem," Fitz said, and Elliot nodded.

"So, why did you want to meet?" Elliot asked him carefully.

"I got scared," Fitz said, "It turns out Tom hasn't taken he gun out of my desk – and something happened today. I was scared, and I needed to come talk to you."

"There was a gun in your desk?" Elliot asked, he seemed surprised.

"Yeah," Fitz said lightly, "So, I came here, ok?"

"Were you feeling tempted to…"

"No," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "I'm just scared that I might be soon, so I came in."

"And you decided to come and see me, who you've barely talked to for the entirety of the time I've known you, instead of throwing said gun out the window, or giving it to the secret service, or – any of the other things you could have done? You wanted to come talk to me?"

"The same damage can be done with a bottle of scotch and a bottle of Benadryl," Fitz shrugged as he leaned back, "The gun wasn't the problem."

"Ok, that's – " Elliot paused, "Some good progress."

"Yeah," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "I guess."

"So what do you want to talk about?" Elliot asked.

"I don't know – anything."

"Anything?" Elliot asked as he took a deeper breath.

"Look I just need to talk about anything else," Fitz told him, looking up at him, "Can we do that, please?"

Anything except Olivia, the fact that she was back, or the fact that all he could imagine was her sitting on the couch with him, in her apartment – their apartment. The fact that there was still a house in Vermont waiting for him and Olivia to show up to, together. He was ready for anything to be the subject of conversation, or his day dreaming, than a woman who left him sitting alone in the middle of the Oval Office. Because she was all Cyrus was talking about all day, like he thought it would cheer Fitz up, or something. Cheer him up that she was back, that she had crawled out of whatever god forsaken hole she had scurried into. He took a deep breath. It had been the first news he had gotten that morning, Cyrus coming into his office with a folder in hand. He was tapping it against his free hand happily – something Fit hadn't seen him do since James had passed – he assumed that he hadn't been feeling like himself since.

"Sir," Cyrus was rocking on the heels of his feet.

"What?" Fitz asked, looking up from the papers he had been shuffling through for almost an hour – Tom still standing by the door.

"I have some news for you, sir," Cyrus said, dropping the folder on his desk.

"What's this?" Fitz opened the file.

"She's back, sir."

Fitz didn't need to ask for clarification as he was suddenly looking at a photograph that was time stamped that morning of Olivia coming out of her apartment. Her face, even mostly looking away from the camera, hit his gut like some kind of boulder flying out of orbit. This because, the second that he recognized her his heart soared out of his chest, like something deep inside of him was rejoicing while his brain was trying desperately to stifle it. To tell his heart and his soul that this was wrong, that they had been tricked and that her - Olivia, his Livvie - being back in DC was a bad thing. The worst thing that could possibly happen to him, as he was moving towards being a functional adult.

There was a cracking, that he was almost a hundred percent sure that only he could hear it. Because of course, it was the only thing he could hear at all. She looked good - that was what hurt the most - she looked just as gorgeous as always. Olivia didn't look destroyed, devastated, or even upset. Their love had blown up in both their faces like everyone had always said it would - and Livvie was fine. Like she had just decided to take an oddly placed two month vacation that she may have been planning for quite some time. It was horrifying, the idea that Olivia bring gone, disappeared, and he had fallen apart. He had tried to kill himself and Elliot was right. It wasn't just because Gerry died, or just because Mellie was raped, or because it was Big Gerry, but the clusterfuck of all three being paired with Olivia leaving. He just didn't get why. Why Olivia leaving was fifty percent, and Mellie, Gerry, and Big Gerry all shared the other half.

"Sir?" Cyrus called to him, trying to get him back into the real world.

"Keep her out," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "I don't want to see her."

"Sir."

"I don't want to see her, Cy," Fitz said, and Cyrus sighed.

"Sir," Cyrus said, as he motioned for Tom to leave, and shut the door, "Sir, I have been patient. I have been very patient with you. I know now a little bit of what heart break feels like. And I know, she left you, again - She broke your heart, again. Until you are out of his big White House, that is the two of your fates. To mangle, and to hurt each other. But you love her anyway - I know you do - I know this cycle. So, no I'm not going to revoke Olivia's hard pass. I'm not going to throw myself the doorway to keep her from getting in. We all know how this goes, sir. Taking away her pass and barring her from entering just means that when you decide to forgive her - when you decide you love her anyway - even though you shouldn't, and even though you hurt each other - it's going to raise alarms when you call down and order her allowed in."

"Since when are you such a romantic?" Fitz spat.

"I'm not," Cyrus said l, taking a pause, "I'm a cynic. But I'm a cynic who needs his friend back, and maybe the woman he loves will be able to put a fire under his ass again."

"Your friend is dead," Fitz replied simply, "the man who loves this woman - the man who loved Livvie is gone. He's dirt."

"I've been in this town long enough to know the people here don't stay dead, not for long. Even if you want them to, even if they would rather stay in the ground. Even if it would be better for everyone if they stayed buried."

"What do you want from me, Cy?"

"Nothing, Sir," Cyrus said, a very unique way of saying 'everything', "You have a meeting with the joint chiefs in ten minutes."

"Thank-you."

"Fitz? Fitz?" Elliot's voice started to intrude on Fitz's memory as he slowly realized that he was trying to talk to him, "So what do you want to talk about, then? I only ask because if there is something that you do want to talk about – and I mean, really talk about, then we can do that. But if you're just going to summon me so that you can blow off a meeting or two that you'd rather send an aid to – You don't summon me unless there's something serious."

"My father raped Mellie," Fitz said instinctively, and Elliot raised both eyebrows.

"That's definitely serious," Elliot took a deep breath, "When did you find out about this?"

"Night before Gerry died," Fitz replied, and Elliot gave him somehow more confused and deliberate stare.

"And you want to talk about this now?"

"Yeah."

"Ok," Elliot said, taking a deep breath, "When did your father die?"

"He passed away of a heart attack while I was running for President," Fitz said, and Elliot nodded, "Is there any other situations with him that would make you think that Mellie wasn't the only one?"

"Guy was screwing a new girl a week," Fitz said, taking a breath as he stretched out his leg, "Anything's possible."

"I guess I sort of phrased that wrong," Elliot said, taking a deep breath, "What I meant was, did he have any violent tendencies?"

"Violent?" Fitz asked, "No, my dad never beat me. There were too many witnesses, and once I wasn't in boarding school – he knew I'd fight back."

"Ok, just checking," Elliot said unassumingly, "So, I'm going to go ahead and assume that you have some – feelings about this."

"I guess," Fitz said, and he took a deep breath, "I guess it really shouldn't have been such a shock to me."

"It shouldn't have been a shock?" Elliot asked, as though he were about to have Fitz committed, "That he raped your wife?"

"Gerry had a thing for taking whatever the hell it was he wanted, and getting his way no matter what," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, and Elliot gave a very slow nod, "He arranged my marriage to Mellie – so that we would be a marketable couple when he pushed me to run for office."

"He did?"

"Yeah," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "And we – well, I – agreed to it because I was young, and stupid and I didn't know any better. Mellie I'm not so sure about, but that was why I agreed. I shouldn't have."

"So you're saying your father saw your wife as property," Elliot said, and Fitz nodded.

"It wasn't just her," Fitz said, again starting to play with his cuticle, weird that he couldn't look at Elliot when he was talking, "He was a sick son of a bitch – but he treated everyone that way. Everyone was someone's property, and people, like cattle, were there for the taking, or the training, or the beating. I can't remember him ever taking 'no' for an answer in any circumstance."

"You said your father never beat you," Elliot replied, and Fitz nodded.

"He didn't."

"Ok," Elliot replied, "What about this rape then – do you remember things around it happening? Often people – when someone close to them has something like this happen, they see warning signs and issues that they might not have seen then, but see now quite clearly. Hindsight's twenty-twenty."

"I don't know," Fitz shrugged a little bit, "I always thought she had a crush on the old man. That he was the one she had really wanted to marry, not me. The real politician that could bring her places, give her what she needed. Seems really stupid now. No, I still don't see the signs other than my father being my father. She got pregnant with Gerry around the same time, so if there was something different – I didn't see it. Other than the – "

"The what?" Elliot asked, and Fitz took a deep breath.

"After Gerry was born, Mellie told me that was it," Fitz said, and Elliot nodded.

"A pretty big sign."

"Yeah, missed that one," Fitz said, "She started pulling away from what little of a relationship we had, and that was that."

"You understand that this isn't your fault, right?" Elliot asked, "It's not your fault that your father did this to her. It's not your fault – or Mellie's fault either - that it was probably a huge contributing factor to the state of your marriage."

"Wait a second. He didn't ruin some fairy-tale marriage. We didn't marry for love. He hurt Mellie - he - hurt the mother of his grandchildren. He's disgusting, far worse than I thought he was," Fitz had been stewing on this for a while, and Elliot perked his ears up to listen, "But we weren't meant for each other, and whether or not this happened when it did, we still would be in about the same place. Our marriage wasn't strong, and it never was. We would probably a little less hostile with each other – but essentially the same place."

"Ok," Elliot said, taking a deep breath, "But you two then had Karen."

"Statistics," Fitz shrugged, and Elliot didn't seem to understand, "When I was running for governor again, that was when we had Karen. Statistics had me winning if we had another child. The grand prize was always the White House, and there's only been a handful of presidents who have gotten there with one kid. One of which, well – he didn't exactly end up so good. It was optics, nothing more."

"And Teddy?"

"That was – " Fitz took a deep breath, "That as something different."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Not really," Fitz replied, and Elliot paused.

"C'mon, humor me."

"It was more of the same, really," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "We were in the middle of a sex scandal, and it was how Mellie saw fit to keep me in the White House."

"So it was exactly the same, as with Karen," Elliot said, with a nod, "So why didn't you want to talk about Teddy? You said he was the happiest thing you had in your life a couple sessions ago…"

"Yeah, but not the way that he got here," Fitz said.

"Did you spend a lot of time resenting him, before he was born?"

"No. That's ridiculous- disgusting, he's a baby – "

"Fitz."

"Yeah," Fitz said, like a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders, "The whole Goddamned nine months I wished he wasn't going to be born. Mellie was using him to keep me in a job that I didn't want – in a marriage that I didn't want to be in. I didn't want to stay president, I didn't want to stay with Mellie. I wanted to – "

He broke off and went quiet. He wanted to go off with Olivia. He resented the coming of his son for nine months – more than nine months – because he meant that he couldn't run away with Olivia. And now he was making up for it – making amends, and making sure that Teddy had the most loving childhood he could manage to give him. And raising Teddy in a not just dead, but toxic marriage with Mellie was not what was best for his child. He knew that, he had known that – but there were sacrifices that everyone had to make. Even if Teddy had never asked for them to be made.

"You didn't want to be president anymore?" Elliot asked, "So why did you run again?"

There was a line. Telling the truth about affairs, and Mellie, and his father, and the kids – that was all well and good. He was sworn in with doctor patient confidentiality, and he would have no interest in spreading those secrets. That was why Cyrus had gone through all the trouble to find a therapist that operated outside the beltway. There were no gossip rags hounding him, and they wouldn't be unless he had gotten their attention. It made the temptation to spill the secrets even less than what they would normally be – for a military officer, even. But there was a line, where affairs, and abuse, and promises to women that ran away when things got tough were allowed – and election rigging was still unspeakable.

"I promised someone that I would do it again," He said, taking a deep breath, "It was supposed to be for me. It was supposed to be for – it was the only thing that this person ever really asked from me, politically."

"The woman who left," Elliot asked, and Fitz stiffened up, "Ok, we're still not ready to discuss that. What about Mellie? Tell me more about your relationship with her."

"What do you want to know?"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So, my boy Tom got to speak! And you all know how much I love Tom, so it made me smile. Seriously, you can give me Tom over any of the other Scandal boys any day (Well, except Tony of course). But again, you all already knew this. Anyway - Enjoy, my lovelies :)

The King Stands Alone

Chapter Four:

Fitz was attempting to keep himself busy, refrain from giving himself enough time to think. He was only letting himself think when he went to see Elliot. They had only gotten a few minutes into talking about Mellie in his session before time was up. Mellie was, thank God, still absent from the White House. SO, instead of wandering and waiting around in the Oval Office, he was up in the residence. Tom was off for the night, so going to the shooting range, which he quite simply could have used a few minutes ago, was off the table. Though, as a rule, when he was sitting in the Oval Office and got the overwhelming need to shoot something, he left. He was sitting in his living room now, in a mostly silent place. Teddy had long since gone to bed, but that didn't mean that there weren't toys scattered across the room. Fitz, instead of picking them up, just left them there. He wasn't quite ready to go to bed yet, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to do much else, either.

His eyes darted over to his cell phone, which was sitting on the coffee table. Olivia was home, she was probably lying in bed at this point. But he couldn't call her. He could never call her – that was why they had the phone. The phone that he had tossed out a White House window a month ago. Though, he didn't actually expect her to still have hers. She left, and he shouldn't want to talk to her as much as he did. She once represented someone he could go to, someone he could call (under the right circumstances) when he needed to. Too much had happened now, too much had changed. Who knew if she even still loved him? If she even ever had? He couldn't use her as a crutch anymore. He had to stand on his own two feet. He used to be able to do it – before he met her.

"So before you left last time, we were talking about Mellie," Elliot recalled the next morning as Fitz settled in on the couch.

"We were," Fitz said, and Elliot nodded.

"So, when was the last time you were intimate?"

"I dunno," Fitz had given up asking 'why', and checked his watch briefly, "About six months or so? God – that seems like a lifetime ago."

"Six months? So, after she used your son to keep you in office, and after she forced him born early?"

"Yes."

"And you were ok with that?"

Fitz shrugged. He hadn't really thought about it much. It was just sort of something that had happened, it wasn't really out of the blue – or more concerning than other things that could have been happening at the time. Honestly, at the time he was so mad, and hurt from Olivia that he hadn't even registered much else that was going on. But that would be a dangerous thing to admit as the President, even to himself. That's why he hadn't until the storm had passed, and he was speaking with Olivia again. There was this great pattern where he wasn't ok when he wasn't speaking with her, and he wasn't ok with it. Not anymore. He almost killed himself when she left last time – and he needed to be ok independent of her.

The minute he thought it he knew that it was impossible. There was no way that he was going to be able to accomplish that, the mountain was too high. Even now when he was trying and pulling and dragging his feet he knew deep down that he still loved her – that he was never going to be able to get out from under her cloud. He knew that. What he needed was to be well enough with himself to survive, even just a shadow without her. He had been able to do it before, just throw himself into his work and not worry about loving someone, being loved. But that was before he knew what it was like. And if he had known what it was like – he would have run for the hills. No super-secret monster of a father needed, he would have helicoptered himself as far and as fast as he could away from her. Or would he have?

"Fitz," Elliot called him back.

"Huh?"

"You were ok with that?"

"No, I was drunk. I said 'no'," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "Then she was whining, and really – I had worse things on my mind."

"Worse?" Elliot seemed alarmed, and this caught Fitz's attention, because he wasn't sure Elliot had given a reaction like that, "What else was going on?"

Well, I killed a supreme court justice who had tried to kill him. His wife, his 'friend', and the love of his life had teamed up to rig his election. And, come to find out a few months later his 'best friend' who he had hired to keep Olivia safe while he was mad at her was screwing her all over the place.

"Just other shit," Fitz replied, taking a deep breath, "Old stuff that shouldn't have happened. Doesn't matter anymore."

"It doesn't?" Elliot asked, taking a deep breath, "So why not talk about it?"

"I don't want to," Fitz replied, and Elliot nodded lightly.

"Fitz," Elliot took a deep breath, "You've admitted to me that your father raped your wife – that your father never loved you, without a single tear. You just very casually explained that your wife once took advantage of you in the shower when you didn't want her. Honestly, ask any college student, and they'd classify it as rape. Not to mention I'm sure all the other toxic parts to that relationship. The blackmail, cheating, the list goes on and on, and you still have a roadblock up. You're making excellent progress in opening up to me, but you're still not getting to the root of your problem. You're telling me all stuff you either haven't registered, or haven't cared about."

"She's not the root of any problem," Fitz seethed – then was taken aback, not sure where the anger had come from – hadn't he been thinking the same thing for months?

"So why don't you tell me a little bit about her?" Elliot asked, taking a deep breath, "What's she like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she must be amazing if she managed to – "

"She's smart as a whip," Fitz said, then chuckled a little to himself, "Well, smarter, actually. She's smarter than anyone I've ever known. And she's absolutely beautiful, in every single way. Whether it's good, or it's bad, it's still beautiful. She has a way of ripping your heart out feeding it to you, and you'd still be in awe. And she's the only one who I ever thought might really, somewhere deep inside, love me because I am me, and not because I could give her something. That's why I don't want to talk about her. Because she's all I can think about – even though I know I shouldn't. It's too much, it's not manageable. Since the incident I've been operating on what I can manage, and what I can't. Talking about her, even know, isn't something that I can do without pain. Physical pain on a level beyond what I thought a man could live through. And I'm not proud of it, either."

"Ok," Elliot took a deep breath, scribbling something in his notebook.

"No, I don't think it is," Fitz said, catching a glimpse of a smiling picture of Elliot and his wife sitting on the desk in the corner, where it always was, "I wasn't brought up like a normal kid. From the time I was fourteen my father was drilling me on what it meant to be a politician. He taught me to be aware of my surroundings, how I was being perceived, and to always make sure that I was above the fray. He taught me this because he couldn't manage it. Who knows how my life would have ended up if he hadn't been caught with a hooker – but I can imagine it would be happier. I was groomed for this job. The one I have now, and can only have for another four or so years since I was fourteen. I didn't get anything resembling a normal life. My wife was picked for me – what did I care? I wasn't particularly infatuated with anyone. Little did I know, the love of my life was waiting for me twenty years down the road. That she was going to be perfect, and have this power to break me, and everything I stood for with a look. A glance that she didn't even mean to give me. And then, as I'm wishing and hoping that it were easier for us, my son dies."

"Fitz, that doesn't have anything to do with your hope for something easier…"

"Doesn't it?" Fitz asked, taking a deep breath, "I'm sitting there hoping and praying that there is some way that I can figure it out. Praying for a way out of a marriage, that I never wanted and then my son – I'm being punished."

"Punished?" Elliot asked, "By who?"

"Time's up," Fitz nodded over at the clock.

"Not until you tell me who you think is trying to punishing you."

"Isn't it obvious? God, Karma, the universe," Fitz said, taking a deep breath – understanding that Elliot was in fact going to keep him there until he spoke up.

"Do you really think it works that way?" Elliot asked, and Fitz furrowed his brow, "Because I don't. People run around looking for justice in the world – and you know what I say? People don't actually want justice. If everyone got justice for everything they did – no one would live past the age of twelve. Who are we to try and perceive some sort of justice? Fitz, you hoping and wishing that you could find a way to be with the woman you love had no effect on the death of your son."

Actually, it did. Maybe not in the cosmic sense, but in a direct sense, it did. He let Maya go because he loved Olivia. Because he wanted Olivia and her mother to be safe from Rowan, which would make it easier for him to slip away with her. But it came back and bit him quite clearly in the ass, and Maya had killed his son. He still wasn't sure why, as far as he understood she worked for the highest bidder with no sense of loyalty. Anyone could have ordered the hit, but no one would have been able to pull it off quite like her.

"Time's up," Fitz reminded him, and Elliot nodded as Fitz stood up.

"I'll see you next time," Elliot said casually, "But I have some homework for you."

"Homework?" Fitz asked, and Elliot shrugged, "Like with a pencil and a sheet of paper?"

"More mental than that," Elliot replied as he set his notebook onto his desk, "Next time we meet, on Thursday, we're going to have a full session talking about this woman. You showed more emotion in the last ten minutes than you have the entire time you've been coming to see me. So, we're going to chat."

"No."

"It's non-negotiable," Elliot said, taking a deep breath, "Or we're going back to meeting three times a week. Your behavior is concerning, Fitz. I only want to help."

"Yeah," Fitz scoffed a little bit.

It wasn't long before he was sitting in the back of the Presidential limousine, looking at his hands folded in his lap. He was angry. An emotion that he hadn't quite let himself feel the full blast of since – well, he couldn't remember. Probably since the incident that had started this whole mess. Since then he had shut himself down. The world was a whole lot easier, and a whole lot safer to him if he didn't feel anything. If he could block off his emotions, he was a better president. More the kind that Cyrus had always hoped he had signed off for. Cold, calculating, and smart enough to run the country somewhere other than into the ground.

"Are you ok, Sir?" Tom asked as he pulled into the back of the White House, getting ready to get out of the car.

"I don't want to be here, Tom," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "I want to be just about anywhere but here."

"You have to give me some sort of hint, Sir," Tom replied as he cut the engine, but stayed in the drivers' seat, "It's the middle of the day, we could probably go just about anywhere you want."

"I used to like hiking," Fitz said, and Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Hiking, sir?"

"Yeah."

"I think we're going to need a little more advance on that, but I'll work on it," Tom said, taking a deep breath, "What about a jog? Around a park? We can arrange that fairly quickly, sir."

"Sure," Fitz nodded, as he climbed out of the limo, "Be right back."

Daniel and Hal walked him up to the residence, and he left them at the door. Running was good. Running, particularly when he could stuff earbuds into his ears as loud as they could go was extremely helpful. It kept his mind from wandering too far. Like wandering to the fact that the park that they had chosen, probably because it was so easy to secure, was only a few blocks from Olivia's apartment. This, specifically, was something that he would rather not think about now – or ever. Instead, he turned up the music, and kept running. Whether he was running away from her, or just running in circles enough so that he could pass out that night without any troubles was beyond him. All that mattered was that he was out of the White House, and he was outside.

He had to be back in the office by three, so his small step toward freedom was cut a little short. He was getting old, he knew that. That was one of the only reasons he liked a little jog now and again, because it hurt. It was a little masochistic side of him, the comfort that he found when his feet hit the ground. Each foot would hit the ground, a small twinge of pain radiated up his shin, and into his knee. His right knee had been a shit show for years, and for some reason that made him feel better. Some weird anti-catharsis – like he deserved how much his knee was hurting him as he walked into his meeting a half hour later.

"You look like hell," Cyrus commented, as if it were some great observation, as he walked into the Oval.

"If I look like hell, you can only imagine what you look like," Fitz said not-so under his breath as he walked by him over to his desk, and sat down.

"I probably deserved that," Cyrus said as he dropped the notes from the meetings Fitz had missed while he was out with Elliot, "Is Elliot planning on releasing you from his death grips yet?"

"No," Fitz said, taking a deep breath, "I don't think so. Apparently I'm way more screwed up than I thought I was."

"Well, I could have told you that," Cyrus said, and Fitz gave him a suspicious look, "What?"

"You saw her," Fitz accused, and Cyrus shrugged.

"She lost a friend," Cyrus said, taking a deep breath, "Harrison. He's been killed. I think it was her father – I haven't told her that, though."

"How is she?"

"I guess I could just offer you a mirror," Cyrus replied as Fitz looked over his notes.

"She ask about me?" Fitz asked, curiously, still trying to get as many of the notes into his brain.

"No," Cyrus said, and Fitz looked up at him – he was lying, "She didn't ask."

Fitz let him lie.

"Good," Fitz said, finishing off the notes, and stuffing them into the drawer, "That's good. So she's not coming here any time soon?"

"Done with the notes?" Cyrus asked as he picked the file back up, "And it's a small place, Mr. President. Particularly when you run in the same circles."


End file.
